


you're all i need tonight underneath the christmas lights

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Lights, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 06:33:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17136785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A little adventure with domestic!Charlie/Jo when their Christmas lights aren't working.





	you're all i need tonight underneath the christmas lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lady_simoriah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_simoriah/gifts).



> merry christmas! this was for a secret santa fic exchange and i was so happy to write some fluff with my favourite ladies :'-)

Jo grunts in frustration, "Okay, none of these Christmas lights work."

Charlie looks up from the alternative-dance playlist of festive songs she's throwing together just long enough to see her girlfriend's frustrated pout. Jo's got her hair done in a messy braid, an old sweater hanging off her shoulders as she crouches by the box of decorations. An undeterminable amount of obnoxiously colourful strings are bunched up in her hands, tangled but looking way too new to all be faulty.

"At least one of those has to work, babe," Charlie tries to rationalise, but Jo's giving her that scrunched up face which means she should stop talking if she knows what's good for her.

"I've plugged them all in, none of 'em are lighting up," Jo argues, and it's almost a whine. She squints at a set of sepia-toned fairy lights that look like they're right out of a Hallmark holiday movie. "Didn't we get these last year? Fucking rip-off."

While Jo sorts out the intensely knotted cords, Charlie decides to inspect the socket they've been plugged into. There seems to be nothing wrong with it, and it works with her phone charger, so it must be the lights that are indeed faulty.

"It's not the socket, is it," Jo places her hands on Charlie's shoulders, massaging gently. Charlie loves Jo's hands; loves how rough they are from a lifetime in a hunter's roadhouse, how the callouses on the pads of her fingertips hit all the right spots, how gentle they can be when she cradles her face as they kiss. She's told all this to Jo, of course, multiple times and in varying degrees of seriousness -

(One time, when they were on a plane on the way to visit the Winchesters, Charlie told Jo how much she loved her double-jointed fingers because, "You can do that thing where you curl your fingers forward and then out of nowhere, you fucking curl them backwards." Jo had made a strangled choking sound that Charlie had only ever heard once before - but that's a different story - and then they were in the suffocatingly small plane bathroom, and Jo was proving just how flexible her double-joints were.)

Charlie realises that Jo's begun to braid her hair into small sections. With a smile, she leans back into Jo's touch, briefly forgetting the situation at hand. It's a cold day in early December, and they're supposed to have the tree up by the afternoon so they can go grab a bite and spend the rest of the evening in bed with Netflix. She sneaks a glance at the clock. One forty-two.

She's just about to suggest they put the rest of the tree up without the lights, but the feeling of small, rough hands carding through her hair and the warmth radiating from behind her convince Charlie otherwise.

She knows what a stickler for schedules Jo is, and if she said they'd finish setting up the tree today, then they'll get it done. There are so many tiny flaws of hers that Jo chooses not to make a fuss about; so many little quirks that she gracefully accepts. Love means she'll do the same with absolutely no bitching about it.

"Let's go for lunch, and we'll get new lights on the way home," Charlie suggests, turning around and pulling Jo down onto her lap. "We can put Netflix on and finish setting up the decorations?"

The idea obviously pleases Jo. A small grin begins to slip onto her lips, and she curls her hands in Charlie's red hair. "Yeah? That could work."

Jo leans forward, bringing her hands forward to cup Charlie's cheeks as she kisses her. She sighs softly, and Charlie leans forward, pressing her face into Jo's neck. Jo's always been warm, like a furnace, but right now Charlie thinks she feels more like a fireplace; homely, familiar, and what she'd come home to for the rest of her life.

They stay that way for a while, until Jo says something that rouses Charlie from the light doze she'd fallen into. "Hm?" She hums, doing her best not to be distracted once again by the comforting vibrations from Jo's chest as she speaks.

"Sleepyhead," Jo grumbles fondly. "I said, what are we going to do with all these useless lights? We have two really long strings and two ones with hipster-looking bulbs that we should've known wouldn't last."

Charlie honestly doesn't know what to do with broken Christmas lights, and though she supposes she could Google it and, within a minute, find a place to recycle them, she doesn't feel like moving from their spot on the couch. So she shrugs, and stays with her arms wrapped tight around Jo's waist.

"What am I going to do with you," Jo ponders when she receives no reply. She cards her fingers through Charlie's hair, scratching lightly at her scalp.

"I have a couple of ideas," Charlie responds quickly, peeking up at Jo with a sly smirk.

Jo rolls her eyes, but can't help the cheesy grin she can feel coming. "You are terrible," she complains, playfully yanking at Charlie's hair before continuing to run her fingers through the messy strands.

"Mmm," Charlie moans exaggeratedly, "Now you're getting with the program."

"Oh my god, stop it," Jo groans. She kisses Charlie again, and then once more on her cheek. Before the redhead can protest, Jo hops up off her lap and pats her thigh. "Come on, do your thing and see if you can find a place to drop off these lights before we get something to eat. I'm gonna get changed into something decent."

Charlie huffs. "But I like you indecent."

"I know," Jo says coolly, disappearing into their room.

And Charlie must be the best girlfriend in the world, because not only does she do as she's told, but she manages to find a good spot that recycles lights by turning them into decorative furnishing. She saves the address and phone number attached, and packs all four sets of lights into a paper bag.

But before Jo's done, Charlie has an idea. She puts aside one set of lights - the most durable looking ones - and hides them at the base of the tree.

Jo emerges from her room not five minutes later, looking drop-dead fucking gorgeous in a plaid dress and black boots. Charlie feels her mouth literally start to water, and she wants to thank her lucky stars and whichever Winchester died most recently and put in a good word with God for her.

"Cat got your tongue?" Jo's smile is coy, and she loops an arm through one of Charlie's. "Let's go grab some food. I'm starved and I need some energy."

It's Charlie's turn to smirk knowingly. "You'll need that energy, all right."

The sky is gloomy, but the weather isn't too bad. They walk the fifteen minutes to town, hand in hand and talking about anything and everything. These are the moments Charlie loves; where they exist in the world with everybody else, and yet they're the only two in the moment who matter.

She loves the way Jo rubs her thumb along the inside of her wrist, the way she walks with her hips swinging and her shoulders back, proud of who she is. She adores the way Jo can listen wholeheartedly while still observing their surroundings, how she steers an excited, storytelling Charlie away from idiot drivers and to safety while still keeping up with the antics she's being told about.

Charlie knows they've only been together for about two and a half years at this point, but she really thinks she could see herself spending the rest of her life with this woman. She'd marry Jo Harvelle, drunk and in Vegas or stone cold sober in a cathedral.

They'd originally planned to drop the broken lights off before their meal, but Jo's grumbling tummy convinces them that it can wait until they've eaten. They get to the pub, which is surprisingly empty for a Thursday afternoon, and get the usual. Fries, one salad for Charlie to begrudgingly keep her fibre and vitamin intake up, and two cheeseburgers. It's lazy food for a lazy day.

After the meal, Jo is the first to admit that she's a little too stuffed from the food and cold from the snow to walk the ten minutes to the furniture junkyard. They catch the bus and sit right at the back, hands clasped together and pressed against one another like they're on their way to a school trip in seventh grade.

Charlie leans into Jo's side. She kisses her neck, starting innocently and then nibbling at the skin just before the base of her neck, where she knows it drives Jo crazy. The blonde whimpers softly, her fingers curling into her skirt and her head falling back against the seat.

"Char, we can't right now," Jo protests.

"No one's gonna see," Charlie hums, licking a stripe down to Jo's shoulder and pulling the neckline of her dress down with her teeth. Her lipstick leaves a crimson kiss on her pale skin. "There's no one else on the bus."

Jo doesn't seem to protest much after that, and her whimpers form a steady rhythm. Her beautiful response spurs Charlie on, and she touches Jo's thigh, pushing her legs apart just enough for her hand to slip between them. Jo shifts her hips, sliding down the seat and letting her knees part with no reluctance.

"You love this, don't you? You're watching the streets we're passing by, looking at the people about and loving that they see your face but they don't know how good it feels, how good I'm touching you?"

Charlie normally isn't too good with the dirty talk; she stutters and mixes her words up - but there's something about the chill of the winter air outside and the warmth of Jo's body trapped between her and the frosty glass, something about the way Jo's squirming under her touch that's loosening her tongue.

Her hand is well below Jo's skirt now, tracing small circles over the front of her panties. Occasionally she presses her index and middle fingers down against her clit, and Jo swears under her breath each time.

Suddenly, the bus stops, and Jo looks up in panic. Her cheeks are flushed a lovely colour, and she's worrying her lower lip between her teeth. But it's nothing, and she laughs nervously before smoothening out her dress and taking Charlie's hand as though they weren't one window and two layers of clothing away from fucking.

The junkyard isn't too far from where the bus left them, and they hurry in the cold, chuckling like two drunk teenagers all the way. Nobody answers the door, but there's a large box beside the gate with the words 'Decoration Donations' scrawled in black marker.

They wait five minutes and then decide to leave the lights there and call the next day to see if anyone received them. It's getting too dark and cold for anymore waiting, and with everything that happened on the bus, neither of them need to say it, but they can't wait to get home. They catch the next bus from the same stop, but this time, Jo diverts from Charlie at the last moment and sits toward the front of the bus so she's facing the back, where Charlie sits, confused.

Before she can even ask, Jo tilts her head back, a devilish smirk on her lips. She snakes a hand up the front of her dress, cupping her tits and pulling the neckline down just enough to expose some cleavage. Charlie's breath is caught in her chest, and she leans forward eagerly in her seat.

Jo's eyes are closed, and she rolls her head further back, her shoulders rising and falling at a slow tempo as she places her other hand on the seat beside her and presses her thighs together. The hand higher up explores the rest of her chest, groping all too gently for Charlie’s taste.

She wants to cross the space between them, wants to shove Jo so she’s laying across the seats and Charlie can take her apart particularly slowly as punishment for being such a goddamn tease. Jo must see some reflection of this in Charlie’s lust-hooded eyes, because she smirks in satisfaction and straightens her dress. She doesn’t look away, maintaining eye contact the whole time.

What a fucking tease, Charlie thinks, smiling all the way.

On a normal day, the bus ride from town to back home isn't too bad. They pass a couple of old churches, some fields and a cemetery from the 1800s that they sometimes visit during the summer. On this day, it's torturous. Every passing minute is sixty seconds too long, and by the time it comes to their stop, Charlie is practically dragging a giggling Jo off the bus and to their apartment building.

"Aw, baby," Jo tucks a strand of Charlie's hair back behind her ear as she unlocks the door, "Did I tease a little too much?"

Jo leans forward into Charlie's back, her arms wrapping around her waist. She fingers the belt loops of Charlie's jeans, pulling her closer. Jo hums against the back of her neck, peppering soft kisses everywhere she could.

Charlie takes unusually long to open the front door, and Jo smirks as she watches her girlfriend's fingers fumble with the keys like they haven't ever before. It only fuels Jo's ego to see just how hot and bothered her little bus show has got her.

The moment Charlie gets the right keys to work, the two are stumbling into the apartment. Charlie shoves Jo against the door, kissing her hungrily. She loves the cocky smirk she can feel against her lips and the way she lets Charlie manoeuvre them, every tug and push driven by adrenaline. Charlie shoves a knee between Jo's thighs, and Jo automatically sinks down against the door so she's perched on her knee, thigh riding being one of the perks of being the more petite one in the relationship.

Jo grabs at Charlie through her clothes, roughly kneading her breasts only to have Charlie grab her wrists and pin them above her head.

"I call the shots," Charlie says, and she's so grateful to her past self for having kept that one set of Christmas lights. "And I think I know a way to make you keep your hands to yourself." 


End file.
